River Tales

His canvas boots still tell of the mountain, yet Old Man River has changed, grown or dwindled - hard to say. Maybe the ragged winged carrion birds have spirited him away? The newly painted river towns have dragged themselves from the water's edge. Scummy ripples and fresh waves mingle in the wake of the setting sun. An ever-young river queen drowns her sorrows on the floating bar and pizza barge moored tight to the lingering mists of tears gone by. Where the heron's haunt the cattails. I got myself hitched to a sly-handed girl. Most nights we row together, listening to the ebony waves pulling bales of starlight along rolling leagues of time.